


Strength

by RuleBritannia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, oblivious!John, wee!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuleBritannia/pseuds/RuleBritannia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants to be strong, like Mary</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet I had on my Tumblr that I'm posting for archival reasons

His mom was always pretty. She was pretty when her hair was all tangled in the mornings and she had bags under her eyes and a croaky, sleepy voice. She was pretty when she was sick and her nose was red and her eyes were puffy. She was pretty when she’d been crying, and her skin looked shiny from tears. But she still put so much work into being prettier, into looking softer and kinder. It made her seem strong in a way that Dean couldn’t put into words, in a way that he didn’t really understand.

Hid dad was strong, stronger than anyone ever, but his mom, she looked like she could make everything bad disappear with just a hug, or a smile. Whenever Dean got scared of the dark, he could go into his parents’ room and stand there, without waking them up because, yes, his dad could have fought any monster under the bed, but he was sure no monster would dare be in the same room with his mom.

After she was gone, he couldn’t think about much of anything for a while. Everything seemed too weird, too loud, askew, almost blurry. His dad didn’t seem like Dad anymore, and Sammy seemed so small. But most of all, Dean didn’t feel like Dean anymore, for a very long time. He knew one thing, though. His mom had been so, so strong, it had taken a whole fire to beat her. It had been so scary, to think there was something so evil and strong that it could take on his mom and win. He still had Dad, and he could kill any monster, but Dean could tell he wasn’t as strong as he’d been when Mom had been around.

When they moved with that nice lady, Missouri, Dean could see in her the same kind of strength his mom had had. She was not as pretty, because no one was, but for a while, Dean thought that Missouri could maybe help his dad be stronger again. His dad seemed to get harsher, angrier, but to Dean he still looked frail in that way he couldn’t explain, and it scared him.

One day, he snuck into Missouri’s bedroom. Dad was working, Sammy was asleep, and Missouri was baking cookies, filling the house with a smell Dean liked a lot, but that still made him want to cry a bit. He went to the dresser, that wasn’t all that different from the one in his parents’ old room. He had seen his mom making herself prettier plenty of times, holding his wrapped attention during the transformation. He knew what she had used, and he was sure he could do it well enough.

He was very careful, trying to paint inside the lines, like with his color-books, but his hands were too clumsy, so he had to try several times. It felt really nice, too, and it was fun. When he was satisfied with the results, he studied himself in the mirror. He thought about borrowing some of Missouri’s flowy clothes, but decided against it, because he knew they would be too big for him. He thought maybe he looked pretty enough, soft in that strong way his mom had looked, that he could take away all the bad things that made his dad look so broken.

With a determined nod, he rushed to meet his dad as soon as he heard the front door, giddy with anticipation. His dad stared at him in confusion at first, but Dean didn’t mind. He gave him his biggest smile. When his dad started to laugh, deep and rumbly, Dean almost thought it had worked. But then he knelt before Dean, and took a handkerchief from his pocket, still chuckling as he undid all of his hard work.

“What did you do to yourself, son?” he asked, with an amused, incredulous tone.

“I…” Dean faltered, because he wasn’t sure he had the words. Maybe he’d done it wrong? “I made myself pretty,” he said, with righteous indignation. He didn’t say, _like mom_ , because they didn’t talk about mom, ever.

John shook his head, finished removing the last of the makeup, and ruffled his hair.

“Pretty is for girls, Dean. You look silly.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and looked down. He wanted to protest, but Dad was never wrong.

He felt a bit like crying again.


End file.
